


Welcome to Purgatory

by Antigonesev



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:13:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigonesev/pseuds/Antigonesev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The 4077th has a Chaplain; the Chaplain is only a human being, a fact that people often overlook. This is Francis's story; the young man named Francis John, not the priest named Father Mulcahy. Join him on his journey with his fellow detainees in Purgatory: Hawkeye, Trapper, Radar.... (the characters will change- BJ and Potter are coming soon!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Francis John, meet Benjamin Franklin

**Author's Note:**

> This is only chapter one, I will add more chapters as time goes by. Hopefully I finish this fic, but be warned it is a work in progress.

The papers were in order, and Francis was on his way to the 4077th MASH. He was going where he was supposed to be, but he felt restless. Like he left the stove on, or the water running- but there was no reason to think things like that, not when he was about to arrive through the archway that proclaimed the 4077 to be The Best Care Anywhere.

 

His Jeep pulling up to the main tent in the compound, Francis thanked his driver and had help hoisting his trunk off of the jeep. He was one of the first arrivals- he could see a few tents set up here and there, but clearly more were being set up for people coming later along the line. He could see a tent nearby that proclaimed it to be the CO’s tent- Henry Blake, and others labelled “ **SHOWERS** ” and “ **SWAMP** ”.

 

Francis set  his trunk down, making sure he still had his duffel bag on his shoulder and his portfolio in his arms. A small man came out, his glasses glinting in the light as he introduced himself as Radar O’Reilly.

 

“You must be Father Mulcahy.” Radar said with a smile and nod, a boyish look about him. “I’ll take you to Henry. Klinger- take his stuff over to the chaplain’s tent.” A middle-eastern man with a hooked nose, wearing a blue poodle skirt and white cardigan easily hefted Mulcahy’s trunk off to wherever his tent would be. Mulcahy stared after him for a moment, a feeling niggling at him that his life would never be the same again.

 

“Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, First Lieutenant, Chaplain…” Henry Blake mumbled as he looked over the paperwork that was handed to him by the boyish Radar. “Well- forgive us, we’re not exactly a military bunch. We’re more doctors than soldiers, really.”

 

“That’s a good thing, Colonel.” Francis said with a small smile, raising his brows as his paperwork was put into a drawer. Francis turned and followed the company clerk out to where he would be staying until the end of the war- may it come swiftly, thought Francis with a soft sigh as he watched an ambulance pull into the compound-  _ ALL PERSONNEL TO THE OR!- _ Francis heard as he watched people springing into action nearly as the PA squawked to life.

 

“Here- take this.” Radar said with a nod, waving Francis over to him, not missing a beat and picking up a wounded soldier on a litter. Francis wordlessly followed suit, taking up the other end of the litter. He followed Radar into the Pre-Op section of the main building. It wasn’t until later Francis had realized that he had gotten blood and other bodily fluids smeared on his Class A’s- not to mention the mud stains on each knee. He had knelt to give comfort to a young man and not minded one bit the dirt and grime. His shirt sleeves had been hastily rolled up to the elbow, and the shirt was now wrinkled beyond belief. He looked like he had gone a round or two with someone in a muddy bar brawl.

 

“You didn’t have to, you know. You’re just a priest, not a soldier.” Radar said after they had unloaded three patients from ambulances and jeeps for the doctors to look after. Radar nodded at Francis’s now wrinkled formal uniform, covered in mud and other stains. Francis just shrugged with a friendly smile, liking the feeling that he actually had done something instead of stood around to keep himself spotless.

 

“I like being needed.” he said simply, moving towards his new home to unpack and to think over what had just happened as he got himself tidied up enough for a meal- he had simply jumped in and became one with the war machine. He had made a slight difference, even if it was just moving litters from jeep to tent.

 

Standing in line for the chow, Francis watched the people; his soon to be flock. He enjoyed people-watching and could watch for a long time the interactions he saw solely in the chow line before him. A pair of men- surgeons, from the sound of it- were discussing their recent eight hours in the OR; apparently eight hours was a short day.

 

“Oh- hello!” the dark-haired surgeon said with a smile, when he saw Francis reach for a tray. “I didn’t see you there. New arrival?” His blue eyes sparkled with merriment as he fidgeted with the silverware. “Hawkeye Pierce.”

 

“Francis Mulcahy.” Francis said with a ready smile, his hand out for a handshake. They shook hands warmly and firmly; Francis’ blood boiled in his veins, and Hawkeye’s sang with warmth..

 

“Uh- Francis Mulcahy?” Hawkeye repeated after a beat, nodding as if nothing had happened at all. Francis seemed a decent sort, blond-haired and blue eyed like one of those choirboys that Hawkeye remembered seeing in Crabapple Cove on sunday mornings, running out in their sunday best only to dirty it up after in the baseball diamond and later, under the bleachers with a random girl- or boy, on a few occasions.

 

“Hawkeye- it’s nice to meet you , Captain Pierce.” Francis’s voice was even angelic and innocent-

 

“What is a man like you doing here in this place?” Hawkeye quipped with a lecherous smile, sliding his tray over on the table, making room for Francis while Trapper slid down the bench, eyeing Hawkeye with hidden surprise glinting in his eyes. Hawkeye glanced at Francis good-naturedly as he ate his meal, glad to have a moment to sit down after eight hours of continuous surgery. “What department are you?”

 

“Uh- I guess you could say I take care of the otherworldly things, Hawkeye.” Francis said with a smile, nodding as he sipped carefully at the brew, unsure if that was actually coffee….

 

“Otherworldly? like a shrink?”

 

“No- well- perhaps, in a way.” Francis smiled shyly. “I’m the camp chaplain- Father Francis John Mulcahy.”

 

“Oh.” Hawkeye paused, unsure as to how to continue, he hadn’t realized he had been flirting with a priest- a holy man who was taken already. “Okay.” Hawkeye nodded, murmuring half to himself and half out loud to the Priest. “Sorry, Father.” Hawkeye became more formal, distancing himself from the priest as much as possible, withdrawing slightly.

 

_ “Attention, all personnel. All shifts report to operating room. All shifts. On the double. Attention, all personnel. All shifts report to operating room. All shifts. On the double. “ _

 

“I think that’s our cue.” Hawkeye said with a slight sigh, rising from his seat and following Trapper to Henry outside the OR. Mulcahy trailed behind, still trying to find his footing in the MASH unit. Deciding the best thing to do was just jump in, he did just that again and jumped right in the fray with Klinger and Radar.  The three men helped fetch, carry, and on a few occasions, clean up sweat from the brow of the surgeons. It was a harrowing welcome for Francis, but he welcomed it nonetheless due to the warm feeling he got when he was needed. When someone called out ‘ _ Mulcahy! _ ’ He still replied to ‘Father Mulcahy’ as well- but he secretly preferred them to call him ‘Mulcahy’ or heaven forbid, his given names, either one- Francis or John.

 


	2. Hawkeye, meet Francis John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye begins to understand that Francis is just another cog in the wheels that keeps the 4077 running smoothly.

It had been a few weeks since Francis had joined the unit, and he was slowly but surely becoming a familiar face around the compound. He had made friends with Klinger, a lapsed Catholic turned Atheist, and Radar, the young man who manned the front office and was pretty much the de facto leader of the camp. He still hadn’t gotten to know the surgeons, but he became friendly with a few nurses and some of the enlisted men who viewed him as a near equal, or at least someone they could go to that might actually have some kind of pull around the camp.

Walking around the camp, he noticed talk of a boxing tournament. It sounded quite interesting, but no one had approached him about it. It seemed no one knew he was a boxer, or at least had the background for it. He felt overlooked and slightly disappointed. His mood lightened up once he noticed the ring being set up and the two surgeons conspiring together. He knew they wouldn’t make it. Not at all.

Taking a chance, he entered the tent and eyed the goings-on. Trapper and Radar were practicing and they were - quite honestly- horrible at it. Glancing at Hawkeye, Mulcahy smiled tightly with good humor.

“I trained a number of boys to box back home.” he said as he followed the action with a resigned look in his eye.

“You got any advice for Trapper?” Hawkeye asked, slightly surprised that Francis- Father Mulcahy- knew and approved of what they had planned. It was puzzling as well, that a man like this one would hang around with the likes of him and the other men- especially if he listened to the various rumors around the camp about their deviant behavior.

“Prayer.” Mulcahy said simply. Handing Hawkeye a slim volume, he turned and walked off. Slightly unnerved by their quick and simple encounter, Hawkeye glanced down at the volume that Mulcahy had handed him. It was a small book on Boxing- not like the Bible he had been expecting to be handed to him.

“A sense of humor, I see.” Hawkeye said with a half-smile as he slowly slid the thin book in a pocket, vaguely aware that something had happened, but he wasn’t sure what.

A few days later, Hawkeye’s week just got worse. The man on the table was a pilot, and one of the best pilots they had around. Feeling a slight movement by his side, Hawkeye turned to glance at the newest arrival, Father Mulcahy. He had seen him around the camp, and in action a few times.

“Is he OK?” The younger man asked, leaning in to him slightly, turning his body so they nearly touched.

Hawkeye murmured something quickly, turning so he could get back to work. He wasn’t sure why he was suddenly warmer, and more vigorous in his work than usual. Glancing to the side, he watched Father Mulcahy move to the other gurney, his eyes moving back to the patient. Moments later he hears Hebrew coming out of nowhere. He looks up and takes a long and hard look at Mulcahy with wide eyes.

“Funny, he doesn’t look it.” Hawkeye murmured, half to himself as he realized that Father Mulcahy was just- someone disguised as a priest. Father Mulcahy wasn’t really  _ Father  _ Mulcahy- it was just  _ Mulcahy _ . Just like Benjamin Franklin Pierce was just  _ Hawkeye _ .

 

* * *

 

 

Of all the days Henry had to go to Tokyo. Frank was being an unbearable asshole, and of course, they were up to their asses in wounded. Hawkeye hated when things like this happened, and he had to do something to fix it, _but what_? He thought of the problem the best way he could- while he was working on the wounded. The room was so hot, so crowded, and he hated it. He wished he was anywhere but here, but he had a job to do, and he knew he could do it brilliantly. He was _needed._ A flash of purple caught his attention, at the very edge of his visage. A gentle, soothing voice broke into his concentration. It was the priest- _Mulcahy_.

“How’s it going?” Hawkeye could feel the other man leaning in closely; Hawkeye felt as if he were on fire. Hawkeye chose not to speak, only leaned down to wipe his brow on the purple stole without a thought.

“The lord helps in one way or another.”  _ Mulcahy _ \- replied with a smile under his mask. Hawkeye could tell, the eyes lit up with a sly twinkle and the ends of his eyes crinkled with mild amusement.

Well, perhaps this Mulcahy actually was a decent fellow and had more to him than the silly collar around his neck, Hawkeye considered as he watched Mulcahy flit around the OR, and a thought hit him.   _ The Lord helps in one way or another-  _ They should Take Action. Yes, he could feel a plot hatching deep in his gut. That, or Igor had messed up the lunch again.


	3. Prone to Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This covers season two- and perhaps part of season three. Hawkeye is beginning to realize a few things....

Hawkeye dove in the closest tent that he could find, he needed refuge from everyone who was after him.

 

“Looking for me, Hawkeye?” a voice permeated Hawkeye’s focused gaze on the compound. Mulcahy. It had to be Mulcahy.

 

“Not really.” Hawkeye turned and adjusted a chair he had heard fall to the ground, Mulcahy was graceful as usual.

 

“I’ve been hoping you’d stop by.” Hawkeye was distracted with setting things up so he could hopefully hide out in here.

 

“Good.”

 

“ Don’t be deceived by these trappings.” the man replied with a smile and a nod. Hawkeye blinked slightly, could that be a twinkle in his eye? No, the man must be squeaky clean, even cleaner than the image Frank Burns wanted to present to the public. “Underneath them, I’m just an ordinary man...who is as prone to temptation as you are.”

 

Hawkeye restrained himself the best he could. Mulcahy was handing him these one-liners on a silver platter. He so wanted to play, but right now he had bigger fish to fry. Taking a seat, Hawkeye watched the priest take a seat clumsily, and decided he would at least try to give it a shot and tell his part of the story- what did he have to lose?

 

Wait- MULCAHY, FRANCIS JOHN was prone to temptation? he wanted to hear this for some reason, but this wasn’t the time. Hawkeye tried to explain, but Mulcahy was intent on getting the point across- again, and again… and again, with a hand pressed to his knee.   “Would you like to talk about it, Father?” Hawkeye let slip, not realizing his thoughts had been heading into that direction.

 

“I only know that given our circumstances, the best of us can behave in erratic and irresponsible ways.”

 

Okay, that cinched it for Hawkeye, and he no longer wanted to see what would happen next- he was vaguely beginning to realize he would be having some other problems of his own if he didn’t leave well alone...Hawkeye abruptly left without a word, leaving behind a befuddled Father Mulcahy.

 

It was not until later, much later when he was writing to his father, that he had realized what he had written in a letter home to his father about Mulcahy wasn't quite the truth:

_ Mulcahy is a swell guy, but don't tell him cause I don't want to foul up his humility. _

 

Mulcahy was more than a “swell” guy- he was  _ interesting _ . Also the only guy he really wrote home about.

 

************************

 

“I thought you were shooting craps with the Chaplain?” Hawkeye heard Trapper ask. His moment with the nurse wavered and evaporated in a flash of heat. Mulcahy didn't quite fit in here- he would feel ….

 

No. Best not, Hawkeye moved quickly from the thought and refocused himself on his nurse.

 

Hours later, his hands into a patient, he heard the footsteps he had grown fond of; firm and sure, yet light and fleeting.

 

“No last rites needed!” Hawkeye couldn't help but call out as he heard Mulcahy enter the OR.

 

“Thank Heavens- could I get you something in a get-well prayer?” The blond man quipped, blue eyes glinting under golden spectacles.

 

“That's good.” Hawkeye said with amusement, perking up with interest when he noticed the man could keep up with him and seemingly hold his own in OR banter. There was something, something about Mulcahy…but that would be for later, Hawkeye hummed as he finished his work.

 

********************

Hawkeye sat in his chair, watching Frank … well, be Frank, and he let out a small sigh. He found himself writing to his father about the people in his unit- he hadn’t really told his father too much about the people- only what he did or the events that took place in the camp. He figured it was time to really sit and write his father a good letter- he was stuck with everyone in the camp for a good long while, after all.

 

_ The sanest man is Mulcahy- one has to wonder how he doesn’t go deaf from all of the commandments breaking. _

 

Glancing outside the Swamp through the mosquito screening, he watched Mulcahy busy at work in his little garden and glanced up at Trapper, who had finally entered the tent from wherever he was, most likely the supply tent, judging from that smile.

 

_ How the hell did this happen?  _  thought Hawkeye the next day, as he strode through the camp, naked as the day as he came into the world, save a cap and his boots. Anxiously clutching at his tray, he smirked slightly at the people who noticed him, yet pretended not to notice… like Mulcahy, who seemed to take it as if human flesh was- well, something he saw everyday. There was no scolding, sanctimonious outrage.. Simple acceptance, from a man in a collar. Blinking, Hawkeye wondered fleetingly if he was missing something- after all, women did love him and noticed his body.. .but Francis- the priest- didn’t seem to mind. 

 

**************************

It was a big day- the day of the Army-Navy game, and everyone was all wound up about it. Hawkeye didn’t like it too much, but there was nothing he could do about it. He did enjoy overhearing Mulcahy place an “anonymous” bet with Radar. Probably winning money for the Orphans again. He had never seen such a contraction of images- a holier than thou priest who enjoyed gambling.. And drinking, if he recalled correctly, his former nickname had been  **_Dago Red-_ **

 

A loud bang, and everyone ducked and covered, Hawkeye’s thoughts flying out of his head as he watched the man of his thoughts flying out of the office, without a second thought for his own safety- only shouting for the patients. Shaking his head, Hawkeye followed his lead, and smiled to himself as he watched Klinger hand Mulcahy his cross- somehow the man didn’t care or need any trappings of his rank or office.. He was just a man.

 

_ He was a man _ , and that could pose a problem, Hawkeye realized with a dawning mix of emotions hitting him. A contraction of images- no one would know who or what Francis was, but he was all that was _ good _ in Korea, and he wanted to keep all of the good to remind him that the world was not filled with red, horror, screaming... death. Mulcahy was, is-  _  life _ . 


End file.
